


The Visit

by glassdemons



Category: Elder Scrolls
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:21:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27511465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassdemons/pseuds/glassdemons
Summary: Vanus is found by a ghost of the past, who has come armed with but a humble offer.
Relationships: Vanus Galerion/Mannimarco
Kudos: 10





	The Visit

It had been ten years since the Mage’s Guild had begun, and it was already another project that was spiraling out of control. Vanus had never been one for project management--he was born to create, to inspire, not to deal with the actual upkeep and maintenance. Unfortunately for him, outside of the Psijic, the urge to do what must be done to belong was next to none.

He wondered how much of that was Sotha Sil’s influence as he lit his candles. His old teacher had been silent from the world, withdrawing yet again from it all. He wondered where Sil was, but it didn’t really matter. He’d hear his prayer.

He turned to put out the lighting candle and instead found himself face to face with glowing blue eyes. He jumped backwards, flailing to get away, crashing into his desk and knocking it over. Cursing, he stamped out the flames before they could spread, and looked back up to the exceptionally rude, undoubtedly Telvanni visitor.

But it wasn’t anyone that looked to be Telvanni. He was Altmeri, for one, and his robes, while certainly elaborate, had none of the House’s symbolism. Even outcasts and rejects seemed to keep the style. Well, one thing he couldn’t blame on them out of a thousand. What did it matter?

He continued glaring up at the intruder, waiting for some kind of reaction, some kind of explanation.

The altmer in question’s mouth twitched at one side, almost into a smirk, but he remained silent.

“Alright!” Vanus huffed. _“What_ in the name of Auriel are you doing in my study? What do you want? Out with it, or I’ll set you on fire like you almost did me!”

The altmer tapped a finger on his crossed arms, tilting his head ever so slightly. “Is that so, _great mage?”_

The voice was hauntingly familiar.

Haunting, in that he thought he died.

No, _hoped_ he had died.

Vanus felt his mouth fall open, but for once, he couldn’t find the words. It felt as though his soul had fallen backwards into a pool of water, staring up at the reflection of--

“Mannimarco?” he breathed, reaching out, half expecting his hand to pass right through him.

“Did you really believe that you had seen the last of me?”

The coldness in his tone was nothing new, but still, it set Vanus on edge. He was unarmed. He was off guard.  
Then again, that pesky sliver of hope, the same he felt when he wrote to Sotha Sil about Mannimarco’s dark arts, the same as when he told the ritemaster, expecting someone, anyone who knew what they were doing to simply convince him to stop. And now it was saying, _“If he was going to kill you, he would have. He would have.”_

Mannimarco allowed Vanus to touch him, patting at his arm, then his shoulder. Vanus brushed his fingers through Mannimarco’s white hair, so much brighter, somehow, compared to the greyed skin, so different than when they splashed around the beaches of Artaeum, looking for shells together. Daring each other to lick the dust from their pestles.

He closed his eyes when Vanus touched his cheeks, but did not protest the motion.

“You’re… alive,” Vanus said, as though this was a new revelation and not a nightmare that kept him awake each and every night.

“I am. You knew well that I could survive without the Psijic. It seems that you decided you could, as well.” Mannimarco pushed Vanus’s hands from his face with a little more force than the movement seemed capable of producing. “And it seems we both have our own pupils, now.”

A chill ran up Vanus’s spine. He blinked, and behind his eyes, it was the night he saw Mannimarco coming out of the sea, clutching what he thought was driftwood, until an enchantment pulled the rest out of the sea and set their dead classmate to walking, following Mannimarco across the sand for a few paces before turning to ash. A light drifted from the bones seconds before, and in the pale moonlight, he had seen the gem in Mannimarco’s hand take it.

It had not continued to glow.

“Of course, mine still wish to understand the Endeavor. Have you instilled this in your own followers?”

“They aren’t--” Vanus started, but the words caught in his throat, and he swallowed, hard. “They’re my students, yes. But I’m no icon. I’m no god. They aren’t my followers.”

Mannimarco frowned, so slightly Vanus would have missed it if he had not watched that face for years, dreamed of him for longer. “You have abandoned the Endeavor?”

“I have.”

He sighed at this, seeming for a moment to be confused. Sparks flicked at Vanus’s fingertips as he fought back the alarms sounding in his mind. When he spoke again, it was soft, smooth: “There is another way to view the Tower, friend. I can show you its glory, inverted.”

“You have seen it?”

“I have transcended my mortality.”

The fact he didn’t answer was not lost on Vanus.

“You were setting an altar to Sotha Sil. If you read the sermons of Vivec, he is taught the syllable of royalty by Molag Bal. I have heard it spoken. I can have it spoken to you, if you would like.”

Vanus clenched his jaw, steadying himself. The lives of any number of guild members could be lost if he spoke the wrong word. “Is that so?” he forced out, trying to seem casual.

Another almost smile. Mannimarco extended his hand. “Walk with me.”

There was hardly a hesitation before Vanus took his hand, and allowed himself to be led outside, through the winding corridors. If anyone saw them, they did not acknowledge it. Vanus prayed, candles be damned, that someone was alive and present to be kept silent.

“You are familiar with the concept of a lich?” Mannimarco said as the moons shone down, faint and distant. His fingers were cold as they clutched Vanus’s, the surprise already felt and passed as he continued, “I have perfected it. I have become immortal, and retained my being. Is that not CHIM? Is that not what we strove for, when we were children?”

“That has nothing to do with the Endeavor.”

“Lorkhan taught us how to fail. Why would I follow in his footsteps?”

“Molag Bal is no more our ancestor than Lorkhan!” he snapped. “You’ve learned to fail on your own!”

Mannimarco stopped, turning to face Vanus. The moons illuminated him, dull as their light was. Vanus felt his breath catch in his throat. Mannimarco merely flicked an ear. “Is that so? Then how am I here before you, if I have not found success? I have come to offer a second chance to you.”

Vanus could feel his heart pulsing frantically against Mannimarco’s tight grip. “If I wished to ascend, I would have stayed with the Psijic.”

“Because you had a choice, right?” Anger seeped into Mannimarco’s voice, nails digging into the back of Vanus’s hands, joints and delicate bones being squeezed together. “A choice you took from me.”

“You--”

“I _know,”_ he growled. “I spoke to ghosts. I soul trapped bandits when I was sent to Tamriel, as though you didn’t use the gems I returned with yourself.”

Guilt washed over Vanus, waves of hot and cold. “I didn’t know!”

“And yet, I handed you respect.”

“I was improving at enchanting!” he protested, trying to get his hands free to no avail. “I was going to prove myself!”

“You were going to prove yourself an idiot. I saved you from disgrace.”

“I didn’t need you!”

Mannimarco suddenly let go, and even though the relief of blood returning to his fingertips was all he had wanted, Vanus found himself regretting his words. The lich whirled around, taking a few paces away before he stopped, looking out into the night. He crossed his arms again, started to say something, and stopped.

“Mannimarco, I--”

“You didn’t mean it,” he hissed, refusing to look at Vanus. “No. Of course not. You know you were worthless without me.”

His pride wrestled with his guilt. It was true that Mannimarco had helped him, a lot, more than Vanus would ever admit after his expulsion from Artaeum. “But I would have made myself who I am now without you ever doing any of that. _Don’t_ act like you did this for me when all I wanted was for you to _stop,_ to look around and realize that you were damning yourself!”

He looked over his shoulder at Vanus, who took this as a sign he was making progress. He continued, “I didn’t know they would throw you out. I thought, surely, _somewhere_ along the line, _someone_ would just want to help you! That’s all _I_ ever wanted!”

“And I am giving you the opportunity to do just that.” Mannimarco fully turned back to him. “Vanus. You cannot be satisfied with this. I know you. You always move the line. It’s always one more thing. I can help you cross it. Isn’t that what you want?”

Vanus glanced over his shoulder at the guildhall. It was a struggle, he couldn’t deny it. Outside the guild, he was treated just the way he was when he was a novice Psijic visiting Tamriel again.

“Are you truly satisfied with such an average life?”

It was so much further than he thought he would ever make it, so long ago, watching his father’s body swing in the stale breeze, birds swarming him--

“Vanus.” He focused on Mannimarco, who was once again holding out his hand. “Let me show you the power that I know you have. I will give you all you have ever wanted. Let me help.”

He took a step backwards.

“Vanus,” Mannimarco repeated, his voice a warning. A threat. Desperate.

Pleading.

“No,” Vanus whispered, then coughed, trying to find his voice. “No! I will not give my soul to Molag Bal! If I am to make my mark, if I am to last in our people’s memory, it will be my own way.”

Mannimarco’s eyes hardened. “You will regret this. I ask you again. Are you satisfied with this life you’ve created? Would you not be happier to come with me?”

“I will be,” he swore, hating how his voice shook even as he did so. “I will be. Without you.”

He sighed, straightening himself up, chin in the air with all the air of the nobility that life had denied him from joining.

“And you are not welcome in this chapter of my guild, nor any other. We have made our choices. It’s not becoming of you to have regrets, my friend.”

“You will call me that no longer. The next time you meet me, it will be the end for you.”

Vanus looked him over, desperate to find the telltale crack in his shell, a twitch, a shift of weight, but found nothing. This was no boast. Vanus returned the cold look as well as he could muster, even as he felt the last glimmer of hope he had forgotten he was carrying with him die out. “Very well.”

And with that, the lich vanished into nothingness. Vanus frantically looked around, but the shadows were still, and there was no sign of a chameleon spell, no matter how he strained his eyes.

After what felt like an eternity, he returned to the hall, and to his relief, saw fresh candlelight in the windows. 

There was another reason he never accepted the offer to escape to the Clockwork City.

Tamriel, in all of its imperfect glory, all its fractured beauty, needed protecting, active care, and guidance, and love.

No, he was not satisfied with it. He never would be.  
But Vanus loved it, and for once, for one thing only, that was enough.


End file.
